


Untethered

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attempted Murder, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Murder Family, Possessive Sex, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Redemption, Rough Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: An AU where Ransom Drysdale's original lie in the movie is the actual truth--he didn't kill Harlan and he wants to help clear Marta Cabrera's name in order to get his cut of the inheritance. As they investigate to find the real killer, Ransom finds out just what it is about Marta that made Harlan leave her everything.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera & Ransom Drysdale, Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 32
Kudos: 992





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Ransom Drysdale in-canon is a toxic piece of fucking garbage and I refuse to fangirl over him one little bit. 
> 
> Disclaimer #2: I fucking loved Knives Out. Every bit of it. I can leave it completely as-is because it's a fucking masterpiece.
> 
> That being said, I had some Thoughts (TM). Again, it's perfect as-is, but I found myself thinking, "Ooh, it would've been neat character development if Ransom had just been a spoiled douchebag, but not a racist murdering piece of shit." I really liked the story he sold Marta when he rescued her from the Thrombeys. I thought it would be a neat idea to write an AU where he had intended to help her get away with it and find the killer to collect his money and say "fuck you" to his family. 
> 
> Mind you, this is not me trying to redeem the irredeemable. This is me playing with an idea that I thought would've been a cool alternate ending to an already excellent story. Ransom is still a dick, but here, he's not 100% a dick. But make no mistake--actual Ransom Drysdale deserves to rot in jail. He's an excellent flaming garbage bag of a villain. I want to make that perfectly clear in case anyone's sliding into this story thinking otherwise. Proceed if you dare. 
> 
> Last thing, I've only seen Knives Out once--it unfortunately has already stopped being shown in theaters where I live--and so I combed the Wiki to make sure I had the facts straight, but please forgive me if I messed up part of the murder plot pieces. Once it's on DVD, I may have to come back to clean something up if I screwed it up.

_What can I tell you?_

_This guy you see_

_Can't help feeling so cool, hip, and so free_

_Don't believe in getting hooked on love_

_No, not me_

_You can't persuade me to play your game_

_You turn your nose up whenever ever I do the same_

_The way to move is all so smooth_

_I'm cool!_

_I know you want to hold me, cool cat..._

_-"You Make Me Cool" by Yoko Kanno (Cowboy Bebop OST)_

__

“I’ll make this simple,” Hugh Ransom Drysdale said, as easily as he said anything, as if the world were his oyster and all he had to do was reach into it to pluck out what he wanted. “You don’t want to get caught. I don’t want to get broke. I help you hide the evidence and keep Blanc off your scent, you give me my cut of the inheritance.”

Marta swallowed hard, the food he’d bought her sour on her tongue. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” Ransom smirked. “Never trust a Thrombey.”

He settled back in his seat and then added, “But one thing you can trust is that the only way you’ll get one to cooperate is with the right incentive. You’re the one holding the cards, Marta. Just depends on if you have the guts to play that winning hand or if you’d rather bluff your way through the game.”

The smirk widened as he glanced down at the empty bowl. “And something tells me you’re not going to be able to bluff very well.”

She scowled at him. “Asshole.”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P sound unnecessarily. “So, Miss Cabrera, do we have a deal?”

Marta lifted her chin. She straightened her shoulders too, trying to match Ransom’s impossible, bottomless confidence. It didn’t work. She still felt sick inside. But something in those blue eyes of his shone more deeply. Maybe an appreciation that she’d tried to toughen up. “Deal.”

“Smart girl,” he simpered, and she rolled her eyes. He grinned and then flagged down the waitress. He paid and they returned to his car.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, but I think we ought to go back to my place.”

Marta blinked at him and he gave her a teasing smile. “The house is still infested with Thrombeys, remember?”

She relaxed a little and made a scoffing noise as she tugged on her seatbelt. “You could have just said that, Ransom.”

“S’more fun the other way. You squirm when you’re nervous, like a little caterpillar.”

“I do not,” she sniffed. “Put on your seatbelt.”

“It’s my car,” he said, shifting gears. “My rules.”

“The police do not care about ‘your car, your rules,” she insisted, crossing her arms and glaring. “And seventy percent of all fatal car accidents are because the driver was not wearing a seatbelt.”

“So you’re saying I’m a shitty driver, nurse?”

“I’m saying that we have enough to worry about without someone crashing into us and you go flying through the windshield and turn into tomato paste on the concrete.”

Ransom snorted. “Right.”

“Put it on or I’ll ruin the upholstery.”

He rolled his eyes, but dutifully tugged the belt across his broad chest. Marta tried to hide a smile as he pulled out of the parking lot and gunned it onto the road.

“We need a suspect list first,” Ransom said. “All the Thrombeys have motive, but the means and the will to kill my grandfather are another matter entirely.”

“Right,” she muttered. “I think off the bat we can rule out Walt. We have to assume someone climbed the side of the house, so with that limp, he would never be able to make it.”

“Agreed. The most likely candidates are Fran, Joni, Linda, Jacob, and Meg—”

“Meg would never do that,” Marta said fiercely. “Never.”

“Marta,” Ransom said evenly. “We’re talking millions of dollars. I know you think that everyone deep down has a good heart, but they don’t. If you threaten someone’s livelihood, they’ll tear your throat out and watch you choke in a pool of your own blood. Everyone’s a suspect.”

“Including you?” she shot back. “You are, after all, the one seen storming out after Harlan told you his intentions for the will.”

“And you have every right to think I did this,” he admitted. “But the evidence is going to tell the truth, not your gut. Meg stays on the suspect list until we find her alibi.”

She fumed and turned towards the window, her posture somehow both aggressive and fearful. Ransom couldn’t help but see it in his peripheral as he watched the road, smoothly weaving in between cars. “For the record, I don’t think Meg did it either. She doesn’t have the stomach for that kind of deception or violence. She’s still got some morals even after being in this family.”

“An amazing feat in itself,” Marta mumbled, and then cursed softly as she realized she’d said it out loud. Ransom let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Don’t pull your punches with me, Nurse Cabrera. You’re not going to hurt my feelings, trust me.”

“That would imply that you actually _have_ feelings, Ransom.”

He smirked. “Well, look at you. Sweetheart has a sharp tongue after all.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Please, Marta. If you were any sweeter, you’d be a Disney princess.”

“I covered up Harlan’s murder,” she said, glaring at him. “I followed everything he told me to do. I am not sweet. I am selfish.”

His smirk faded. He met her gaze for a long couple of seconds. “You did what you did so you could survive. That’s what it comes down to. Harlan knew it too. It’s not helping anyone to blame yourself.”

“It’s my fault!” she hissed, hating the tears that sprang into her eyes, the roil of bile that touched the back of her tongue as she flashed on the image of his slit throat. “How can you sit there and tell me not to blame myself?”

“Because we don’t have all the pieces. Besides, blaming’s not productive. We’re here to be productive.”

Marta sniffled and composed herself, staring out the window again. “What will you do with the money?”

“Nothing I haven’t already been doing,” he said blithely. “What about you?”

“Get my mother situated. My sister too. My family.”

“And then?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Ransom. It’s only been a few hours. What would you do?”

“Anything I wanted. That’s the beauty of it. People who say money doesn’t buy happiness don’t have enough money. It’s freedom. That’s why he gave it to you. He wanted you untethered.” Ransom huffed a little. “Hell, I think he wanted us both untethered.”

They were silent for a time. She shifted a little, rubbing her arms. Ransom reached out and turned the heat on. “Do you think he knew this would happen?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

“You helping me so you could get your share of the money.”

“It’s _Harlan_ , Marta. He knew us better than we knew ourselves.”

“Right,” she muttered, shutting her eyes. “Right.”

* * *

He woke her when they made it to his place. Marta was unsurprised that it was huge, extravagant, and spotless. He clearly had a maid—one she was sure he made call him Hugh—and she could tell one month’s rent cost more than several years of her salary. However, she’d been expecting monochrome bachelor pad, not rustic, warm colors like the camel coat she’d seen him wear. He instructed her to remove her shoes on his spotless hardwood floors and made them both coffee, which was probably the first borderline courteous thing she’d ever seen him do.

Ransom wheeled a whiteboard from his office into the den and made Marta recount every single thing she could recall, sparing no details. Ransom’s handwriting was atrocious, but he made a web and spread out the suspects and the evidence that they’d need to suppress, destroy, or expose to figure out who manipulated her into killing Harlan.

“First things first,” Ransom said, pacing, tapping the dry erase marker against his lower lip. “If someone switched the labels or the liquids in your bottles, we need to figure out who would know that you gave him those meds nightly.”

“I think…everyone but Jacob, perhaps?” Marta suggested. “He is not around enough to be in Harlan’s personal life.”

“Okay, so we won’t take him off the list, but we’ll bump him to the bottom. The little shitstain can still follow orders, after all. Right now, we want the actual trigger man, but it’s fully possible that my mother thought up the scheme and had it carried out by someone so she still had some protection between herself and the murder.”

Marta shuddered. “How…can you talk about her that way? Your own mother?”

Ransom let out another dry laugh. “She just birthed me, Marta. Linda’s been everything _but_ a mother my whole life. You think I’m bad? Ha. Spend the night under a roof with her and then come back and tell me she’s my mother.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” he snapped. “I’m not asking for pity here, nurse.”

She stood then. “Stop calling me that.”

“You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”

Marta stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “And you’re saying it like an insult. Like I’m beneath you.”

Ransom let his eyes drag down her body and then smirked. “Do you want to be?”

She let out a disgusted noise. “You should be so lucky.”

His smirk widened into a grin. “Oh, that tongue, Marta. Does anyone else in my family know about it or you keep those zingers to yourself?”

“Unlike you, your family doesn’t purposely try to insult me enough to warrant it.”

“Hmph. Their loss. I like this side of you. Not so Disney princess. More…real.”

She wasn’t sure how to take that. He’d never expressed much interest in her prior to this horrible nightmare of a day. She’d see him mostly when he was leaving, a flick of his hand in an insincere goodbye gesture. She couldn’t even remember if he’d ever locked eyes with her before today. Something of a flutter of excitement went through her, but she stomped it down. She needed to focus on the task at hand, not at the way his long lashes lowered over his eyes as he stared at her, as if wanting to be challenged. Harlan always talked about Ransom’s love of games and she was playing one whether she wanted to or not.

“You’re right,” she said finally, staring at Linda’s name on the board. “Linda could certainly have masterminded this and had someone carry it out.”

“Mm, say it again, sweetcheeks,” Ransom sighed lustfully, and she finally slapped his shoulder.

“Pay attention.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. Linda’s the top suspect for putting it together. Walt’s not imaginative enough and neither is his wife and my dad lacks the spine.”

“So if she did figure out how to kill her father, then when would they have had time to put the antidote back to frame me?”

They both paused and then locked eyes, speaking in unison. “The funeral.”

“We need to check with the funeral staff about who was around for the whole service,” Ransom said. “Not just part of it. If anyone disappeared, they’d have had time to come back here and then replace the medicine that could have saved him. Get on the phone with the funeral home and ask who worked that day. We need statements, but we need them to keep it quiet. Our suspects might have asked the funeral director to tip them off if someone asks. Loose thread.”

She nodded and picked up the phone, flicking through it until she found the right number. She got the names and gave them to Ransom. He wrote them out on the board, totaling six workers. “That’s one angle. The other is the wake and the memorial service. They wouldn’t have wanted to do it then since someone could be around, but we can’t rule it out until we know.”

“We have to be careful,” Marta said. “Blanc will be doing the same thing and we can’t tip him off that we’re working together.”

“Oh, Marta,” he said with false sympathy. “That ship has sailed.”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Remember, they want to discredit you. By now, my family’s probably told him I swept you off your feet and am making sweet love to you at my place so you’ll give me the money.”

Her jaw dropped. She wheezed in disbelief, trying to find words. “They—no—they wouldn’t dare sink that low—”

Ransom lifted an eyebrow and leaned in towards her until their eyes were level. “ _Millions_ , Marta.”

She covered her face with a hand. “This cannot be happening.”

“There are worse things out there than being accused of sleeping with me,” he sniffed haughtily. Then he smiled as he collected their coffee cups. “You should be so lucky.”

* * *

A few of the funeral workers didn’t pick up, so Marta left voicemails. She took a couple statements, but they didn’t see much, only concerned with the service running smoothly. Night had fallen by the time she finished calling around and adding notes to the murder board. Ransom ordered Chinese and they split it together, sitting at his island counter since his couch was so expensive he never ate in the den.

“I’ll drive you back home,” he said, slurping his Lo Mein. “Or you can stay here if you want.”

She frowned at him over her brown rice. “Why would I want to stay here?”

“Security, for one,” he said. “I have an alarm system and I’m in a gated community. You bet your ass that someone will be lurking at your place if you go back today.”

She went stricken. “Mama.”

“They wouldn’t go after her, not that way,” he said, and she relaxed slightly. “But it can’t hurt to tell her to stay with a relative. Her and your sister. Until things blow over.”

Marta texted them both and then sunk down on the stool, her head in her hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Then cheer up,” Ransom said, collecting her plate. “Means things can only go up from here.”

She watched him scrape the plates and then rinse them, adding them to the dishwasher. She took a breath and went for it. “Do you miss him?”

Ransom settled his hands on the sink, facing away from her. “Why does that matter to you?”

“Just curious,” she said softly. “He…spoke of you often.”

He turned slowly and crossed his arms, his stare intense enough that she felt it on her skin like the heat from a large candle. “You trying to get under my skin? See what makes me tick? Nurture me to death, nurse?”

Marta shook her head. “I told you. Just curious.”

“Then don’t be,” he snapped. “I’m not your friend, Marta. This is a business transaction. Nothing more. I’m helping you so I can help myself. After all, you said it yourself. Maybe I killed the old man and I’m lying to your sweet little face right now because you’re just that goddamn gullible.”

She slammed her palms on the counter and shoved the stool back. “You are such an asshole.”

He smirked. “Yup. Now do you want to go home or do you want to stay with me, Marta?”

“I want to throw this drink in your face,” she said before she could stop herself.

Ransom kept smirking. “Be my guest.”

She ground her teeth. “You think I won’t do it?”

Ransom pushed off from the counter and strolled right over to her. She didn’t budge as he invaded her personal space, resting his hands on the counter on either side of her, his posture just as obnoxious as he was, but she knew better. Another game. Just another game, like always.

“I think you’ll do anything you put your mind to,” Ransom said from inches away. “I think you have more spine than you let on. I also think that you should be more aware of your surroundings, because I might be a murderer and I’m about two inches from kissing that little smart mouth of yours right now but you haven’t moved an inch. You gotta learn some self-preservation, Marta. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

He let his eyes drift towards her mouth. “In here too.”

“You’re implying that I should be afraid of you,” she said. “I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“If I were, then I’d throw up on you right now, remember?”

Confusion, then annoyance, then amusement crossed his features. “Guess you’re right. But that leaves you in a somewhat…”

He licked his lips. “Awkward position.”

“How so?”

Ransom smiled wolfishly. “You can’t lie without puking, right?”

“Right.”

“So, Marta,” he murmured. “Are you as turned on right now as I am?”

Marta swallowed hard. She prayed her stomach would rush to her mouth and spill rice and chicken all over his neat, white, too tight t-shirt.

But it didn’t.

Ransom grinned. “Marta, Marta, Marta. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He slid away from her and nodded towards the stairs. “Guest room’s this way.”

She let out a shuddering breath, her cheeks too hot, her knees too rubbery, but she followed him anyway. The upstairs was just as ostentatious and lovely, clean as a whistle. He gave her towels and lent her a shirt and boy shorts to sleep in, promising he’d take her by her place in the morning so she could grab fresh clothes. He lingered in the doorway with another sinful smile, those devilish blue eyes gleaming.

“Sleep tight, Miss Cabrera. If you have any nightmares and you want to play doctor, I’m down the hall.”

She gave him a sour glare. “Don’t wait up, Ransom.”

He chuckled softly and closed the door behind him. She undressed and redressed in his clothes, sinking down into the softest damned bed ever made by humans. She wanted to feel tormented, but the faint cologne in the soft cotton and wool dragged her under its grip in mere minutes.

Ransom might’ve been the murderer. She hadn’t proven he hadn’t done it yet.

And yet she slept soundly that night.

How odd.

* * *

Marta got her next big sucker-punch in the mailbox the next morning.

**I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.**

Panic seized her as she read the top of the photocopy—a copy of the coroner’s report. God. She hadn’t even thought about that yet, how it would show his bloodwork. If Blanc got a hold of this…

She raced back to Ransom’s car and showed it to him. He cursed under his breath. “Someone else knows. This isn’t the killer. We’ve got an opportunist here.”

“What?”

“Check your email,” he said. “Dollars to donuts, there’s a vaguely threatening email with an address. They want money to keep quiet about what they know.”

Marta hurriedly brought up her email. “Yes. It’s at one o’clock today.”

“Is there an amount in cash that they want?”

“Yes. One million.”

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get in a few hours. We’ve got to get in touch with the lawyer. I know it’ll be hell for you, but you’re gonna have to tell him you’re accepting the inheritance. My family is going to try their best to interfere and invoke the slayer clause, but you might have enough time to get the money by one o’clock. In the meantime, we need to see about the coroner’s report. Maybe they have a copy and we can bribe them into handing over the records.”

She strapped in and they tore ass over to the office.

And when they got there, it was simply gone.

Ransom parked, squinted at the smoldering building, and spat out, “What the fuck?”

“It’s on fire?!” Marta blurted out before she could help herself. “Actually on fire. What the hell is going on?”

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “If whoever’s bribing you has the only copy…”

He shook his head. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

Ransom backed the car up and drove away. “We’ve got to get to the lawyer.”

“Ransom, whoever is doing this isn’t going to just settle for a million,” Marta said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “They’ll want more. They could ask for the whole fortune if they want it.”

“Yeah, and they’re not gonna get it,” he growled. “That’s why you’ve got me.”

She blinked at him. “You?”

“We’re gonna go get the money. We’re gonna bring the money. And I’m going to strangle whoever it is within an inch of their life.”

“Ransom, no. We can’t do that. All it’ll do is land you in jail for assault. How are you going to help me clear my name from a jail cell? How are you going to get your money then?”

He flashed her an angry look. “And just what else are you going to do, Marta? You can’t let them string you along with the evidence forever.”

“We just have to figure out which of the Thrombeys did it,” she said firmly. “Everyone has a weak spot. We find theirs and we expose it so that they have to give up their leverage.”

Ransom eyed her. “Mm. That’s actually some good forward thinking. Atta girl.”

Marta pretended she didn’t feel a tiny bit of pride from the comment. Her phone buzzed. She paled. “It’s Blanc. He’s probably calling about the coroner’s office. Should I talk to him?”

“Not until we’ve gotten this under control. If he tries to meet with you now, we might miss our deadline.” He grimaced. “Probably means he’s got someone sitting on my place waiting to see if we come back. We’re gonna have to stay mobile for a while until we get it cleared up.”

He nodded to her phone. “Call the lawyer. Ask him to meet us at the Boston Public Library, somewhere quiet and private as possible.”

They met. Marta signed dozens and dozens of forms, feeling sicker with every moment she saw the financial statements of just what the Thrombey estate and publishing company was worth. She’d never seen so many zeroes in her life. She would be solely responsible for so much. She didn’t know how to feel about it, but a strange stubbornness enveloped her by the time they were done. Legacy. Harland left her his legacy. He thought she deserved to write her own story, not let society or the vicious wolves in his family write it for her. Something in her solidified.

She refused to fear her legacy anymore.

The lawyer told her where to go to withdraw that amount, and they were cutting it close. Ransom took her to the bank and lingered with her to just to be sure the briber hadn’t set something up. They finished in just under half an hour to one o’clock and drove to an old laundromat.

Ransom parked and killed the engine, eyeing the place. “Go in through the restaurant and walk in the back, that way no one sees. I’ll head around the rear and back you up. Don’t get cute. You see a weapon, leave the money and bail. I’m not about to bury you, nurse.”

Marta snorted a bit. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Ransom.”

He gave her a little lopsided grin. “Well, now I’ve got an incentive, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does it hurt being so altruistic?”

“The pain is unbearable,” he deadpanned. She tried to smile. It didn’t work.

He kept up the steady stare, maybe reading her, maybe looking for a weakness, she couldn’t tell. The silence stretched out some of the precious minutes she had left. She tried to think of something to say, but her pounding heart choked her silent.

Just as her lips parted, Ransom leaned across and kissed her.

Marta froze, stunned, hardly having the time to register how soft and warm his lips felt, how he still tasted like expensive cappuccino from their morning brew they’d shared. He pulled back a moment later, his grin sly and dangerous.

“W-What was that for?” she squeaked.

Ransom winked. “For luck. Go get ‘em, nurse.”

Somehow, it had been exactly what she needed. Marta gripped the briefcase of cash and climbed out of the car, marching straight towards her destination.

The laundromat hadn’t been operating in years. It was a dead space requiring too many repairs to be a viable option for most businesses. Marta eased her way around the corner, peeking to see someone sitting in the dark, motionless. Her stomach twisted painfully. She crept around and cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak. “I’m here.”

Nothing.

She steeled herself and stepped forward into the empty room with its dripping walls and mildew. “This isn’t what you think it is and neither of us are going to get what we want if we continue on this way.”

Still nothing from the person in the chair.

Marta got an awful sinking feeling. She fumbled for her phone and flipped on the flashlight.

To find Fran slumped over in the chair.

“Fran!” she cried on instinct, leaping forward to touch her skin. She found Fran’s weak pulse and quickly eased her limp body onto the floor, shouting, “Ransom!”

He appeared from around the corner, pocketing the pistol he’d been palming, his eyes wide. “Son of a bitch, it’s the help.”

“She’s dying!” Marta said. “Call 911!”

Ransom winced. “Marta, if you do this…you know it’s all coming to light.”

“I don’t care,” she snarled, starting chest compressions. “Do it, Ransom.”

He exhaled and pulled out his phone, dialing.

The next hour and a half was a circus.

Blanc and the detectives took them in for interrogation. Both refused to speak to confirm any allegations, but they knew the writing was on the wall. Fran was taken into the emergency room, her status unknown. The only benefit came from the fact that since the blackmailer was Fran, Marta knew where she would have hidden the other copy of the coroner’s report. Blanc took them back to the house to confront the Thrombeys and she found it in the hidden drawer where Meg and Fran often hid their weed.

But when Blanc opened it…everything fell into place.

“That’s it!” Blanc roared, hopping up and down as his blue eyes speedily read everything in the report. “The missing piece, my girl!”

“What?” she and Ransom asked in unison.

“Hang on just a second,” Blanc said. “Don’t you move a muscle, I’ll be right back.”

He hustled away from the study. Both of them stared at each other, mystified.

Until Blanc came back dragging Joni with him.

“What is the meaning of this?” she shouted, trying to twist free of his grip. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to drag me like luggage through my goddamn ancestral home—”

“Pardon me for my rough treatment, Joni, but we have a little puzzle here that we think you can solve by adding the last piece,” Blanc said, gesturing to the detectives to shut the door behind them. “Have a seat.”

“I’m not sitting down until you explain yourself,” she huffed. Joni then glanced at Marta and tried to smile, but it was hollow. 

She scowled at Ransom. “You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be off getting your chest waxed, you little gigolo?”

Ransom laughed that humorless laugh. “Sorry to disappoint, Joni, but the nurse is a little too good for the likes of me.”

Marta sent him a brief, searching look. He’d sounded…sincere. That was new.

“Miss Joni, we have here the coroner’s report of Harlan's autopsy,” Blanc said, brandishing the papers. “And upon it is the evidence that ties this whole sordid story together.”

“What story?” she demanded, arms crossed.

“The story of how Harlan Thrombey was murdered.” Blanc smiled and pointed. “By you.”

Joni’s jaw dropped. She stared at all of them in turn. “How _dare_ you.”

“How dare I? Shall I tell you how I dare, Miss Joni?”

“Oh, please do! This should be fucking rich to hear!”

“I would be happy to oblige.” Blanc gestured to Marta. “I am sure you are aware that Miss Cabrera here is an excellent nurse.”

Joni snorted. “Either an excellent nurse or a nurse excellent at blowjobs. Tramp.”

Marta stiffened, gobsmacked at the accusation.

Ransom took one threatening step forward.

Joni flinched on instinct, staring up at his face and finding it absolutely empty but for anger. “You want to say that again? Hmm?”

Joni swallowed, nervously shifting her weight away from him as he towered over her. “Look, Ransom, there’s no other way Harlan left her all of our money unless she—”

“Unless she was just a good person and a good friend who actually listened to Harlan instead of trying to suck him dry of his fortune at every available opportunity like we did,” Ransom snarled. “So maybe keep your fucking mouth shut about her and answer Blanc’s goddamn questions.”

She tried to regain some of her dignity. “Or what, Ransom?”

He gave her a chilling smile. “Or there’ll be two murderers standing in this room.”

Joni swallowed again as he stepped back, flanking Marta. Blanc gave him an interested look before continuing. “Thank you, my boy. As I was saying, Miss Cabrera is an exceptional nurse. She has been treating Harlan Thrombey daily, nightly, and as such, certain things become second nature.”

Blanc glanced at Marta. “There are things you do as a nurse where you don’t think twice, don’t you?”

Marta nodded. “Yes. What about them?”

“I find it hard to believe that even if someone switched the liquids you delivered to Harlan that your instincts wouldn’t compensate for the change.”

Marta’s brown eyes widened. She stared at the papers in his hands. He smiled and offered them to her. She read them over, Ransom at her shoulder, reading over them as well. “He…his blood work is normal?”

“Yes!” Blanc said. “Yes, it is. You, Marta, are an excellent nurse. You knew the weight and the liquid composition of both medications and you administered the right ones.”

“Then…” She swayed in place. Ransom wrapped his arm around her back, steadying her, finishing the sentence. “Then she didn’t kill Harlan.”

“Exactly. Mr. Harlan’s death is indeed a suicide. But that’s not why we need Miss Joni here.”

Blanc gestured to the detectives. “These fine gentlemen here have performed an autopsy of their own. On your financial statements, Miss Joni.”

She went stock still. “O-Oh, you must mean the little hiccup with Meg’s tuition money.”

“Hiccup?” Blanc asked, raising an eyebrow. “Stealing thousands from Harlan for years is a hiccup?”

“Look, it’s not my fault if his accountant is a bumbling idiot who sent the money twice,” she protested. “That doesn’t make me a murderer.”

“Quite right, madam. Joni, do you know what a GPS is?”

“Yes,” she sneered. “I’m not stupid.”

“I would never imply that you are. Are you aware that there is such a thing in your cell phone?”

“Of course.”

“Are you aware that your cell phone can be pinged for its location within a vicinity with a court order during a murder investigation?”

Joni’s mouth clamped shut. She just stared at him like a deer in headlights. Blanc continued. “Do you know where your cell phone pinged the night of Harlan’s suicide?”

“I don’t…you must be mistaken…”

“And what about your whereabouts shortly before Fran was found drugged in the laundromat? If we subpoena your phone location then, where do you think we’d find you? What about last night before the coroner’s office was burned to the ground?”

“You can’t seriously think I—”

Marta’s phone rang, interrupting them. She held up a finger and answered. She said a couple of things and then hung up. She then breathed a sigh of relief. “Fran’s okay. The doctors said she’ll make a full recovery.”

Blanc again smiled at Joni. “And once she’s all better, who do you think she’ll say attacked and drugged her, Joni?”

“Fuck you!” she shrieked. “None of you understand how hard it is to run my business and try to pay for my child’s education when that old bastard cut me off, so I did what I had to do to get what I needed. So what if I killed Harlan? You can’t prove it. Not you, you Kentucky fried chicken of a P.I., not you, you trust fund douchebag—”

She whirled on Marta. “And certainly not this pathetic simpleton who seduced my—”

Marta threw up in Joni’s face.

She screamed and recoiled, batting the vile smelling liquid off her face. Behind her, Ransom cackled before handing Marta a handkerchief from his pocket. Marta wiped her mouth and spoke over Joni’s cursing. “I lied. Fran is dead.”

She pointed to the detectives behind Joni, brandishing their phones, which were recording. “And you just confessed to Harlan’s murder.”

“You…” Joni stood there, panting heavily, her eyes red. “You little bitch!”

Joni snatched a knife from the wheel of knives and lunged for Marta.

Time itself seemed to slow.

Marta was too close. She couldn’t get out of the way in time.

But Ransom could.

Ransom grabbed Marta and shielded her as the knife made its arc.

Right into his back.

The force of it took Marta and Ransom to the floor in a heap. The detectives immediately tackled Joni and pinned her to the floor, but it didn’t matter. Marta lay underneath Ransom, her tearstained eyes wide, her voice scratchy and hoarse in panic. “Ransom?”

“This really hurts,” he murmured, shaking all over, trying to smile.

She clutched his soft sweater, not knowing what else to do. “Oh, God, Ransom, what have you done?”

“Dunno,” he slurred, his eyelids fluttering as he started losing consciousness. “Probably something stupid. I’m good at that.”

Ransom managed to arrange his lips into a smile at last. “If I don’t make it…promise me you won’t give ‘em the money.”

“I-I promise, Ransom, just please, hold on.”

“Good girl.” His eyes shut. “Sorry for being such a dick.”

Ransom passed out on top of her.

* * *

Ransom woke up in a hospital bed.

He heard a page turning. He felt groggy, but managed to turn his head enough to see Marta beside him, her slender fingers following the words on one of Harlan’s old paperbacks. She heard him stir and smiled at him like the clouds breaking on pure sunshine. “Ransom.”

“Marta,” he said, swallowing thickly. “I’m not dead.”

“You’re not dead,” she confirmed.

He tried to chuckle, but mostly coughed. “Thank God Joni has such shit aim, I guess.”

Marta passed him a water bottle. “Yes. Also thank God for the fact that you’re so vain that your muscles are enormous and the knife didn’t penetrate deep enough to puncture your lung.”

Ransom choked on the water, laughing. “Wow. Vanity saved my life. You can’t make this shit up.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up in the hospital bed. “You okay? I landed on you pretty hard.”

“Bruised, but fine,” she assured him.

Marta reached into the book and pulled out a slip of paper that she’d been using as a bookmark, handing it to Ransom. He peered down at it to see a check. “Your inheritance, as agreed.”

He held it between his fingers, staring at all those zeroes. It was exactly what he wanted.

Wanted. Past tense.

“So here’s the thing,” Ransom said, reclining in his bed. “I could take this money and go back to my life.”

He cut his blue eyes over to her, that same playful smile finding his lips once more. “Or I could take my chances making you fall in love with me and get the whole fortune.”

Marta laughed. It was delicate and light as springtime. She hadn’t laughed this hard in months, if ever. Ransom should have felt insulted, but instead just felt grateful to hear it. He definitely hadn’t thought things through taking that knife for her. He’d done it on impulse and still wasn’t entirely sure why…until he heard Marta’s laugh. Something that precious deserved to be protected. Even by him.

“Games,” she said, shaking her head as her laughter subsided. “Always games with you, Ransom.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re too chicken to play, then I guess I should just take the money.”

She met his eyes. “You think I’m afraid?”

He leaned in towards her until his warm breath brushed her cheeks. “Terrified.”

Marta stared him down and then plucked the check out his hand. She then instead handed him a velvet bag. He shook it and heard the Go pieces inside. She reached down and set the Go board on the small table between his bed and her chair, lifting an eyebrow. “Care to make that a wager?”

Ransom smirked. “Damn right I do. If I win, you go out with me.”

“And if I win, you take the money and get on with your life,” Marta finished for him. She smiled widely and then added, “Asshole.”

Ransom chuckled and gestured to the board. “Ladies first.”

They played.

Marta won.

Ransom scratched his hair, frowning. “Guess the old man was right.”

“Mm-hmm.” She reached for the pieces to put them away. A shadow moved across the board. She glanced up just as Ransom bent across enough to kiss her gently. She didn’t pull away. The kiss was electric. She felt it all the way down in her toes.

Ransom then smiled, his lips still on hers, his voice low and buzzing with challenge. “Best three out of five?”

Marta smiled back. “You’re on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta face off in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you want some filth, 'cause you finna get some. I actually had planned on this being a one shot but then I admitted to myself that I wanted them to fuck and so here we go.

_A little less conversation_

_A little more action, please_

_All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me_

_A little more bite, a little less bark_

_A little less fight and a little more spark_

_Shut your mouth and open up your heart_

_And baby, satisfy me_

_Satisfy me, baby_

_-"A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis Presley_

__

Marta wasn’t sure if Ransom won for real or if she let him win. Either way, she made him promise to stay in the hospital long enough for the stab wound in his back to close up completely and then she let him take her to dinner.

Dinner was hardly any different from their interactions prior, except it was somehow…warmer. She realized both of them weren’t playing defense any longer. Ransom had walls drawn up on account of being raised by two entitled, selfish rich assholes, never wanting to trust or care about anything. Marta had walls drawn up to protect herself from predators, from the sharks’ constant circling. Now, the wall between them was transparent and fragile as glass. It wouldn't take much to shatter.

However, even with Joni caught and jailed for the frame up and attempting to kill her, Marta couldn’t go back to the house. The Thrombeys had gnashed their teeth even harder upon finding Marta exonerated from Harlan’s murder. They harassed her with calls, emails, letters threatening to sue if she didn’t give them the money. All of it she handled with the same calm as she had when she’d caught Joni in the lie. But she still didn’t want to be in the house, not now, not with all the soiled memories.

She pretended she was being sensible by staying with Ransom as they walked up the steps to his house. She pretended it was the logical thing to do, to stay with him, with his alarm system and gated community and his powerful body that had already shielded her once.

But that wasn’t why.

The front door closed behind them. She heard the lock click into place. She stood there, waiting patiently.

It didn’t take long.

Ransom grabbed her arm, whirled her around, and shoved her up against the closest wall. He kissed her ravenously, sliding his thigh between her legs, forcing her slender frame to stay pinned to it. His big hands gripped her waist hard and jerked her down against his knee, giving her pressure, friction, right where she wanted it. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him viciously, biting his soft lips, licking hungrily into his mouth.

“Asshole,” she whispered in between her hurried breaths. “Bastard. Selfish prick.”

Ransom laughed against her lips, grinding his pelvis into her lower belly as he pushed her sweater up over her jeans. “You sweet-talker, you.”

He had her jeans undone in seconds, shoving one hand inside, palming her wet heat. Marta moaned, her head thudding to the wall, pleasure surging through her at long last. She’d wanted him so bad, ever since he’d rolled up beside her in his pretentious car and told her to get in. Hell, from a superficial standpoint, she’d wanted him earlier than that, but she’d merely shoved it down. Ransom was a walking work of art. He was arrogant and smug and callous, but he was beautiful. It was nearly impossible to take her eyes off him when he was in the same room as her. He was a wolf.

Ransom teased her relentlessly, simply rubbing back and forth and rolling the hard, blunt edge of his cock against her hip. Her eyes had fluttered shut the second he’d touched her underneath her pants, but she felt his searing gaze from inches away.

And then he surprised her by wrapping his hand around her throat.

She gasped slightly and opened her eyes, finding his lashes low, his eyes glowing in the foyer’s dim lights. “I could destroy you right now, you know.”

Marta stared at him, feeling the steely strength in his fingers, unmoved by his words. And yet his other hand continued stroking her so deliciously.

“Break you apart,” he murmured, not squeezing, just leaving his hand there, her pulse beating along his thumb. “It’d be easy. Like snapping a toothpick.”

Marta licked her slightly swollen lips. Ransom’s eyes followed her tongue. “But?”

“But,” he finished obediently. “All I can think about is protecting you from them. Making sure no one can touch you but me.”

Ransom sighed and let his hand drift from her neck over one breast. Marta mewled and pushed into the touch unconsciously. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to touch you all day long, sweetheart. You’ve wanted me to, haven’t you? Fuck, you’re wet. So goddamn wet.”

Waiting no longer, he slid his hand inside her panties and pushed two fingers into her slickness. Marta yelped out something in Spanish and clutched his shoulders, wanting to wrap a leg around him to ease some of the pressure, but her knees were trapped by the jeans. Ransom growled and shoved them down with his other hand, yanking her thigh up around his side. He kissed her again, sloppily, impatient in his desire, quickly fucking his fingers into her slippery heat. Marta bucked into him, fighting the urge to fly off the cliff immediately from her heightened state of arousal. She panted out his name on odd breaths, her mouth missing his every so often as they rose and fell against the wall.

He bit her lower lip, his eyes on her flushed face, not suppressing a smirk. “Do you want to come for me, Marta?”

An anguished, frustrated moan tore from her throat. “I don’t want anything from you. You’re a selfish, opportunist, lay-about, son of a bitch.”

Ransom laughed low in his throat. “A son of a bitch who’s about to make you come. And you want it. You can feel it filling you up, can’t you, Marta? You hate how much you love it, riding my hand like this, moaning for me, just for me. You’re so sweet, Marta. Sweet as sugar.”

He leaned over and sucked on her ear lobe, driving a high-pitched cry out of her. He chuckled and whispered, _“dulce, mi amor.”_

Somehow, Ransom’s wicked tongue had been the straw the broke the camel’s back. Her spine arched. She came on his fingers immediately, digging her nails into his cable-knit sweater, her slim frame jerking wildly as scalding pleasure doused her from head to toe. Ransom sweetened it by running his thumb softly over her clit and kissing her neck as she eventually went loose in his grip, high as a kite.

Marta returned to awareness as he climbed up to meet her mouth in a kiss, her blown pupils huge as he stared down at her smugly. “Bastard.”

“Is that my pet name, sweetheart?” he taunted.

“Might as well be.”

She shivered as he tugged his fingers loose. She expected him to wipe them off as her other lovers would do, but he licked them clean instead, watching her all the while, and she couldn’t believe how much it turned her on. He smirked upon noticing the reaction and patted his side. “Up.”

Marta understood and kicked off her socks, jumping slightly to wrap her legs around his waist. Ransom locked his arms around her securely and carried her upstairs effortlessly. That also turned her on to a ridiculous extent. She busied herself placing light, teasing kisses and bites over his neck as he brought her to his bedroom. By the time they reached the oversized mattress, he was breathing hard from the touch of her plush lips everywhere that the sweater exposed. He settled her on the side of the bed and reached up, peeling off the sweater and the t-shirt below it. She raised her legs enough to let him shed his jeans, leaving him in dark boxers. He tore off her shirt, her bra, his hands quickly cupping her petite breasts. She writhed on the bed as he squeezed and pinched them, grinding against her belly, his mouth on her neck once again.

He drifted down her body, licking both breasts in turn, and then following a path down the center of her stomach. He shoved her legs apart, his voice ragged. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of eating your pussy this week, baby.”

Marta’s entire body flushed at once. “You…have?”

“God, yeah,” he sighed wistfully, once again palming her delicate folds. “I want to hear you screaming my name loud enough to wake the neighbors. Then I’ll fuck you just the way you want it, sweetheart. I know how you want me. You want it fast and hard enough to hurt, but it won’t. It’ll feel so damn good you won’t want anything else but this cock for the rest of your life.”

He grabbed her thighs and jerked her closer, kneeling in front of the bed. She bit her bottom lip as he draped her legs over his broad shoulders and buried his face between them without hesitation.

Marta nearly passed out.

Ransom had obviously done this before. His tongue lapped up her sweetness and then explored her with deadly intent, tracing every bit of her as if memorizing it. She plunged her hands into his thick, dark hair and he growled, catching her wrists and pinning them to the bed. He slid closer, forcing her legs apart even more, and slid his tongue within her silken depths. Marta cried out his name and then collapsed back on the bed, moaning every time his tongue slid inside her. His lips neglected not an inch of her, sucking gently, then hard, never the same way twice, just building her higher and higher towards her climax. She shook her head in disbelief, cursing up a storm in Spanish, trapped there to do nothing but feel him.

And oh, did she feel him.

Ransom squeezed her wrists in warning as he felt her reach the edge again, her olive skin coated in sweat, her body undulating to his rhythm. “Come on, sweetheart. That’s it. Come for me again. Come on my tongue.”

“R-Ransom, please,” she begged, helpless in her haze of pleasure.

“Come on, princess,” he urged, his blue eyes blazing as he watched her face. “Come for me.”

He grazed her clit with his teeth on the next pass and Marta simply melted underneath him. Ransom groaned in satisfaction as she peaked again, her slender form wiggling deliciously on his sheets. He memorized the sight of her reaching her pleasure and then rose from the floor, licking his lips clean along the way.

Marta stirred as she heard the nightstand drawer open and close. Her eyes opened to see him standing between her spread legs rolling a condom onto an almost unfairly huge cock. She measured her breaths but he smirked down at her knowingly, idly stroking it harder.

“You don’t want me to—”

“Later,” he said brusquely. “Trust me, I can’t wait to have that smart mouth of yours wrapped around this cock, but right now, I need more of this sweet little pussy.”

He scooped her up with surprising gentleness and moved her further onto the bed to let him climb on top. She whimpered as she finally felt the smoothness of his skin along her breasts and her belly, warming her instantly. He was solid as an oak tree on top of her, so strong, so lithe. She tried not to whine impatiently as his gorgeous cock settled between her open legs; a promise of what would be.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her body, all over, cupping, squeezing, stroking, until her nerves felt on fire and her mind reeled. He finally broke from her lips long enough to stare down at her, sprawled beneath him, raw and needy and ready. “I’m gonna fuck you, Marta. Fuck you until you can’t speak. Fuck you until your toes curl and you give me exactly what I want. And you can be as selfish as you want to be with me. Come as many times as you want. I can take it.”

She wanted to say something clever or defiant, but the second he finished his little speech, he drove that big cock inside her and nothing else in the known universe mattered.

Ransom felt _good_.

So good.

Better than anything.

“Ayyyy!” Marta cried, clawing at his shoulder blades. She arched up into him on impulse, but all it did was send him sliding deeper into her aching heat. She pulsed around his cock, panting like she gone into a dead sprint, every nerve inside her screaming from the pure ecstasy he’d shoved into her. She bit down over his shoulder and trembled, trying to hold still as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. Above her, Ransom hummed contently, stroking her outer thigh as he rested himself as far as he could reach inside her.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “Even better than I dreamt.”

Then the bastard moved again.

Foolishly, Marta had hoped he’d let her get acclimated, but he didn’t. Ransom planted his hands on the bed and proceeded to fuck the living daylights out of her. Worse still, her body instantly surrendered to him. He rocked into her, hard, steady, every thrust hitting her hidden spot, his cock too big to do anything but pummel her most sensitive places. She thought he’d be more impersonal, more selfish, but he kissed and nipped at her throat, his mouth working just as hard as his hips. She never stood a chance.

He must have known as much; she felt him shift above her and then his hand tilted her chin up. “Look at me, baby.”

Marta shook her head, too flustered and sex-drunk. He just laughed. “Oh, no, you don’t. Open those pretty brown eyes for me, Marta. You want to come, don’t you? I’m only gonna let you come if you’re looking up at me.”

She bit her lip, wanting to rebuff him, but the promise of an orgasm, the likes of which she’d probably never known, was too tempting. She let her eyes drift open to see his handsome face above her, his lips turned up in a coy smile, his eyes all for her like nothing else existed.

Then he went for the kill.

“Whose pussy this this?” he whispered, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips on every thrust.

Marta yelped and arched up again as the pleasure sharpened and centralized in one place inside her. “R-Ransom, please—”

“Tell me,” he ordered, licking his fingertips and sliding them between their lower bodies. He found her clit on the first try and stroked it in between thrusts, growling as it made her pussy clench him even deeper, even tighter. “Tell me, baby. Tell me whose pussy this is. Tell me this is Ransom’s pussy.”

“Fuck you!” she cried out, even as she climbed higher and higher into the clouds from his touch.

Ransom chuckled darkly. “Martaaaaaa...I’ll only let you come if you say it.”

She blushed prettily underneath him, caught between her pride and her need. She swallowed thickly and forced the words out of her pouty lips. “It’s…it’s yours, Ransom.”

He grinned wolfishly. “That’s right, Marta. It’s all mine. Every inch of you is all mine right now.”

Ransom bit her lower lip and then licked the slightly sore spot. “Now come for me like a good girl.”

He bucked into her in several punishing strokes, quick, rough, and she cascaded into her climax all at once. She squeezed her eyes shut on impulse, but the lustful stare he’d had on his face burned into her retinas as she claimed her prize underneath him. Nirvana showered her like warm summer rain. She could hate him, hate everything about him, but this.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was made to fuck.

And what’s more was that he didn’t come.

Marta eventually stilled on the bed and realized he was still hard as a rock buried inside her. He’d done an admirable job waiting for her to slide into the afterglow, petting her side, occasionally tweaking her breasts. She swept her messy hair out of her face and gave him a puzzled look. “You didn’t…?”

“I’m greedy,” he admitted freely with a lopsided grin. “I want more before we call it a night. To that end…”

Ransom winked at her. “Assume the position. Roll over, ass up, palms on the bed.”

Marta scowled at the command, but obeyed. “You will not pull my hair.”

He chuckled as he slid up behind her. “Yes ma’am.”

She almost sighed as his big hands trailed over her backside, then her hips, once more strumming her skin like a guitar. He gave her a light slap on both sides of her ass, earning himself a glare, but he just grinned fiendishly before angling himself inside her again. She tried to trap a moan yet again as his cock spread her to her limit, simmering pleasure right up her spine and through her veins.

Ransom purred and pushed with his hips once, nudging her into rhythm immediately. Marta didn’t mind one bit; she planted her hands and rocked back into him, dropping herself onto his cock at her own leisure. Ransom met her in the middle, thrusting steadily, using her hips as a handle to add a little friction to the movement. She floated off on the cresting wave of pleasure, grateful that he didn’t drive her right to the edge, instead letting her gradually ease into it. The pace increased on its own. She didn’t want it to end, but she too felt greedy after a point and cupped her sex with her fingers, stimulating her clit.

Ransom was having none of it, though.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, batting her hand aside. He yanked her up by the arm to be flush with him on her knees, pinning her to his wide, muscular chest. She cried out as his fingers replaced her own, circling her clit as he slammed into her from behind, the shorter thrusts ensuring he nailed her spot over and over.

“Ransom!” she protested, clutching his arms. “It’s…it’s too deep!”

“No,” he growled in her ear. “I’m right where I should be. Right here where you can’t get rid of me. Under your skin like you’ve been under mine.”

He caught her chin and tilted her face towards his, kissing her possessively. Marta knew she didn’t have much longer--precious seconds--and made a call she wouldn’t have normally made.

She shoved back against him with her hips, separating them, and then twisted around. She slammed her weight on his shoulders and Ransom toppled onto his back from the sheer surprise of her actions. She kicked a leg over his waist and guided him into her once more, her head tipping back as his cock glided deliciously deep this time, maybe even deeper than when he’d been on top. Below her, Ransom shuddered and gripped her knees, holding her in place so she couldn’t escape, but she was a willing captive anyhow. Marta rode him for all he was worth, elated as she heard him groaning and breathless underneath her. She swiveled her hips, arching her back, using every bit of leverage she could find until Ransom’s moans mingled with her own over the heavy slap of wet skin on skin. She’d be driven mad by him, but it was worth it just for this moment.

Marta sunk down against him and cupped his chin, kissing him, her dark hair curtaining their faces. “Come, Ransom. Come for me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed as he pulled her down harder onto his cock. “Fuck, Marta, all I want to do is come. Come inside you. Make you just as bad as I am.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, unable to resist the pull of his release. He clutched her nearly to the bruising point and pounded into her from below, sending her spinning into her climax as he met his own.

And it was the best damned thing he’d ever felt.

And in true form, they both conked out at the same time.

A while later, Ransom returned to awareness as he felt Marta’s silky hair pooling along his throat. He absently turned his face enough to kiss her forehead. Her thick lashes lifted and she gave him a sleepy look of question. He smiled. “You’re gonna catch a cold like this.”

“ _You’re_ gonna catch a cold like this,” she shot back and he chuckled.

“Always a nurse, aren’t you?” He gathered her up and slid them under the covers, relieved as the sheets warmed them in seconds. Marta started to scoot away, but he frowned. “Where you goin’?”

Marta blinked at him. “Oh. I thought you wouldn’t—”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Assholes like to cuddle too, you know.”

She hid a smile and slid up beside him again. He ditched the condom in a nearby trash can, turned her onto her side, and spooned her, rubbing her belly like a cat until her limbs all relaxed against him. Marta shut her eyes and listened to his steady breaths. “There’s no way this can work, right?”

He didn’t answer right away. But before he did, he kissed her shoulder blade, in the same spot Joni’s knife had penetrated his own shoulder. “Stranger things have happened.”

Marta fell asleep with a smile.

FIN


End file.
